


Ashes O’Reilly gets Sectioned

by WillowWispFlame



Series: So Sings a Song of Slaughter [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Basira Hussain is a Mechanism, Blood, Burns, Domestic Violence, Gen, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is a Mechanism, Minor Character Death, Police, Police Brutality, The Mechanisms Are Grifter's Bone, The Mechanisms Were The Archivist's College Band, The Mechanisms!Basira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowWispFlame/pseuds/WillowWispFlame
Summary: Basira has only the best of intentions, really.There are consequences to what we decide, and Ashes has made their choice.Kofi thinks that you shouldn't make the choice for others.
Relationships: Ashes O'Reilley & Marius von Raum
Series: So Sings a Song of Slaughter [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775218
Comments: 18
Kudos: 151
Collections: So Sings a Song of Slaughter





	Ashes O’Reilly gets Sectioned

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags, especially the Domestic Violence one. 
> 
> Sorry this is quite a bit later than I usually update, the comet NEOWISE was rising this morning and I was pumped to see it. Sadly all I saw were clouds, but there's always tomorrow!

When Basira first joined the force, she did so with noble intentions. She wanted to protect the weak, serve the country, and keep the peace. As a constable for the London Metropolitan Police, she hoped to make a positive difference in her community. She was very naive. 

Months before she got her badge, Basira was involved in two incidents that her colleagues on the force would call “weird” or “strange” or even “odd.” The first was a cursed band sneaking on stage after the scheduled live music was backstage packing up, resulting in a bar full of corpses. The curse transferring to a new band with the death of the other was an unintended consequence. The second incident was the natural progression of that band discovering their curse. 

Neither massacre was mentioned in police records, once Basira was in the position to look into them. Despite the horrifying memories of blood on her hands and coating every innocent victim in those two venues, it was like it never happened. She had to confirm with Kofi privately that it had happened at all. As Marius von Raum, he would know. The nursing student had looked at her with sadness and grief as he confirmed over a steaming cup of coffee that as much as they would like to forget it, the concerts had happened. They had the bloodstained clothing to prove it.

So she wasn’t insane, and the police couldn’t have just ignored two bars full of corpses. Someone had to have called in to report it. Basira widened her search of the database, using her precious lunch break to look into violent deaths reported around the time of the concerts. The results made her set aside her paltry breakfast burrito. Twenty-five unexplained violent homicides and suicides across the London area. 

She recognised some of the victims as avid fans of the Mechanisms.

Basira was going to be sick. 

[]++++||=======>

The first police case that Ashes was involved in was not the case of Diego Molina, nor was Baira given a Section 31 form at the time. No, that would come later. Instead, the first time that they sang on the job was for an instance of domestic violence. 

An elderly neighbor called it in. A noise complaint, they said. Screaming voices and loud noises had come from the flat across from theirs. Police Constable Basira Hussain and Sergeant Oliver Burnes were dispatched to the address, with backup on call in case things got ugly. They often did with cases of domestic abuse. 

A woman answered the door wiping away tears, with her hair messed up and sticking out oddly from the side. It looked like it had been pulled. Still, the woman smiles. “Hello officers, how can I help you?”

The officers glanced at each other. Basira hadn’t been on the force for long, but she had been trained in domestic abuse cases before. This would be the same, frustrating, song and dance as usual. 

“My name is Sergeant Burnes, and this is my partner Constable Hussain,” said Burnes. He flipped his badge out for her to see. “We were called in for a disturbance at this apartment.” 

“I’m Heather Rochester,” she paused. “My husband, David, is in the back, in the bedroom.”

“Do you mind if we come in and take a look around?” 

“S-sure,” Mrs. Rochester said, surprising Basira. They were usually turned away at the door at this point. 

They stepped into the apartment and looked around. It was about medium sized, and well lived in. A bit of a mess, but Basira didn’t judge. Classic middle class household. There were no signs of a fight or struggle in the living room or kitchen, although as Basira glanced in the trash can, there were the remains of a broken glass and plate laying on top of the usual garbage. 

“Could I speak to your husband?” Burnes asked after Basira met his eyes. 

“O-of course,” said Mrs. Rochester. “Let me go with you and let him know you’re coming in.”

As they went into the back to talk to Mr. Rochester, Basira took a closer look around the apartment, keeping an ear out for anything from the back bedroom. One of the first things she noticed as she passed by a wall covered in framed pictures was how limited they were. 

Almost every image not some artistic landscape was of Mrs. Rochester and who she assumed was Mr. Rochester. But there were no pictures of family, or friends. No old photos from when the couple were younger, and they were never alone. She would normally suspect that they were simply estranged from their respective families. These things were known to happen, but in context it was rather suspicious. 

Sergeant Burnes returned with Mrs. Rochester and the man from the photos in tow. 

“Constable Hussain,” her colleague said. “Could you take Mrs. Rochester out for some coffee? I’d like to speak privately with Mr. Rochester.”

She nodded, and left with Mrs. Rochester for the cafe on the corner. This was one of Burnes’ favorite tactics, divide and conquer. 

“So, Mrs. Rochester-” Basira began as they sat with their cardboard cups full of sweet smelling coffee at a secluded booth.

“Please, call me Heather,” she interrupted. 

“Heather, then,” Basira nodded. “Could you tell me more about that noise complaint we were called out for?”

“Yes,” Heather said, nervous. “I didn’t want to say anything back there, but David and I were fighting. It got a little heated. I’m so embarrassed.” She ran a hand down her hair, where it was sticking out a little. “I, I promise that we will try to keep it down next time.”

Basira hummed. Nothing musical, just a breath outward. She took a small sip. “Heather, you must understand what this looks like from our point of view. We get a lot of cases like yours. It starts with a noise complaint, then under-reported falls down the stairs, and ends with a body bag.”

“David would never hurt me like that,” Heather defended. “We, we don’t get that physical. He has never left a mark.” She sat back on the squishy bench and took a sip.

“But he has hurt you?” Basira asked. 

Heather blinked, turning her gaze down to her lap. “He, he has hit me a few times. He promised he wouldn’t do it again.”

“And today, with your hair?”

Heather’s hand startled upwards, gently caressing her head again. “It was my fault,” she said quietly. “I dropped a plate, and it spooked him. We yelled for a bit and he accidentally got his hand stuck in my hair. It was nothing. He has never left a mark on me.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” said Basira as she sipped her drink. Her mind raced.

They returned after they both finished their coffees. Heather went directly to her husband on the couch and kissed his cheek. 

Basira was internally raging. Without proof of abuse, it was unlikely that any charges would stick on David Rochester. Unless something changed, Heather would continue to be in this horrible situation until things escalated. 

Burnes and Basira stepped out into the hall to reconvene. Basira was only half listening to what Burnes said about Mr. Rochester. Something about it being a civil dispute and that the couple would talk over what happened on their own time. 

Her memories flicked unconsciously to what happened to Jordan last month. He had sung, and was able to drive the ants in that house to violence all on his own. Could Basira do the same, but more localized? 

She told Sergeant Burnes what Heather told her, but he gave the same reason she knew that they couldn’t do anything. She caught a taste of the same rage she felt on the edge of his voice. They couldn’t arrest David Rochester for domestic abuse without proof: physical evidence on Mrs. Rochester, signs of a struggle within the home, or eyewitnesses. It was the limit of the law to only punish after a crime was committed, and they couldn’t do anything without proof of a crime. They could only offer the wife public resources for marital abuse victims and hope that she followed through. 

They went back inside, and Basira was careful to position herself closest to Mr. Rochester. He looked on edge. As Sergeant Burnes started to give his spiel about marriage counseling provided to feuding couples, Ashes hummed. They were quiet, barely audible, but it was enough.

Ashes hummed the tune to Rose Red, their focus centered on Mr. Rochester. If he looked on edge before, he was highly uncomfortable now, glancing at Ashes as they hummed just barely loud enough for him to hear. His fist tightened, and a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. Ashes smiled microscopically, he was holding himself back. They thought they could hear the thrum of their bass guitar join them in humming.

They didn’t worry as they left the flat before Mr. Rochester did anything. If it worked, they would hear what happened next. If not, then Ashes would know that their curse wasn’t strong enough to work on humans individually, at least not from short exposure. 

The officers had taken three steps away from the door when they heard the crash. Barely glancing at each other, they rushed back. Ashes paused only a moment before slamming open the unlocked door. 

Heather Rochester was on the ground, face cut and reddened, arms raised in defense. One of the picture frames from the wall next to the door was lying broken on the floor next to her. David Rochester was standing above her, face steaming red, clearly enraged and about to kick. Ashes and Sergeant Burnes rushed forwards, tackling the man to the ground. They had him pinned and in handcuffs within moments. He writhed on the floor, trying to lash out as they held him down. Ashes radioed in for backup and EMS. 

Heather looked shocked, she hadn’t moved except to sit up and touch the blood dripping from the scratch on her cheek. 

As they took David Rochester to the police cruiser to take him away, he met Ashes’s eyes. He still struggled against his restraints, but he mouthed something at them.  _ You caused this _ .

[]++++||=======>

Basira had no regrets for what happened. Sure, Heather was hurt and David Rochester was found dead in his cell the next week, but the end justifies the means. If she could use the curse to do good in the world, then it was worth it, even if it was monstrous of her. Heather was out of her toxic relationship. Better to have the situation taken care of sooner rather than later, she reasoned. 

Kofi didn’t seem to think so, when she told him the week afterwards when they got coffee together. 

“Basira, that man is dead now because of what you did,” he said angrily. “What happened to rehabilitation? That couple might not have had the healthiest relationship, but you took extreme measures. Aren’t you supposed to offer resources to people in situations like that? Couples therapy? They could have gotten divorced and been happy away from each other.”

“Then the husband would have found another victim. You don’t understand,” she dismissed. “Cases like that always end in tragedy. She’s alive because of what I did, instead of in a body bag in a couple years because she said no one too many times. Abusers are all the same.”

“You’re projecting your biases, Basira,” he said. “What right do you have to be the judge, jury, and executioner? You knew that woman and her situation for less than a day. A few hours, at most.”

“I have the duty as a servant of the public to protect the innocent. She was innocent.”

“If you are going to keep shutting me down, I’m going,” Kofi stood, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. “We are cursed, Basira. Nothing good will come out of trying to twist it to our own means, especially like this.”

“Jordan seems happy enough to sing at his bugs to make his job easier.”

Kofi closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. He opened them to glare at Basira. “I don’t exactly approve of him doing that either, but at least he is only using the curse against bugs and not on human lives. Do me a favor and think, really think, about the morality of your actions.”

With that, he left, leaving Basira sitting alone at the cafe. 

[]++++||=======>

In August, Constable Hussain was sent with Constable Spencer to Clapham. The local fire brigade needed police support, as the homeowner had assaulted one of the firefighters as they pulled him from his burning house. 

By the time they arrived, the house was a smouldering ruin and a few of the heavily suited firemen were attempting to restrain the homeowner. With how much he was yelling about fire and destruction, and the smoking remains of his home, it was a clear case of arson. It was odd, as she and Spencer approached, it sounded like heavy bells were clanging as an undercurrent to his screaming rants. The sound reminded her of church bells, or maybe the bells on one of those old timey fire trucks that they brought out for parades.  _ Clang, clang, clang, clang _ .

The sound followed her after she burnt her fingers cuffing the arsonist. It followed as they shoved him into the back of their cruiser and followed as she drove herself, her shocked-pale partner, and the suspect back to the station. She was careful to avoid tightly gripping the steering wheel, trying to keep the pressure off of her fingers. 

Basira could barely hear herself ask Spencer what the arsonist had told him. He refused to answer, and the clanging got louder.

The ringing seemed to die down after she left for home, after her blistered fingers had been taken care of and bandaged. She spent a quiet night at home, ordering out. 

When she returned to work, the clanging came back and stayed until Spencer was suspended for trying to destroy evidence. He had tried to burn a red leather-bound book that their suspect, Diego Molina, had on him when they arrested him. That night, the ringing cut off and she was left in silence once more. 

The next day, Basira learned that Spencer had apparently boiled himself to death. She knew that he had died exactly when the bells had stopped. 

Basira was given a Section 31 to sign, and that was the answer to any lingering questions she had. Anything strange, on the edges of the paranormal, was covered up and forgotten. The weird cases were thrust upon those with a Section 31 so that normal officers could sleep easy. Spencer’s fate was covered up, worthy of a Section 31. Whoever Diego Molina was, and whatever strange fiery curse he spread, was worthy of it. The Mechanisms’ curse was worth a whole lineup of slips.

The point was, the police were aware, and didn’t seem to care until they were hit with the slip themselves. But now Basira had access to talk to and work with other Sectioned officers. Maybe there were others on the force just as cursed as they were. These curses were far more common than they had first assumed. Maybe Ashes could sing and sing and flip things around on the weird they encountered, do some good. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, writing from the POV of a police officer was super uncomfortable, especially during these social circumstances. But hey, I found out that as a Constable, Basira is basically the lowest rank possible for the Met, and the uniforms they wear look like a bad Halloween costume.


End file.
